


Bottleneck

by philomel



Category: Video Blogging & YouTube RPF
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philomel/pseuds/philomel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spin the bottle, improv style. </p>
<p>Featuring a rather frisky Christmas tree and a complete disregard for rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottleneck

You're supposed to play spin the bottle with more than two people. That's how they do it in the movies. That is, that's how it's done in the movies shortly before someone walks out of frame and suffers a bloody, eardrum-shattering death.

So, in light of that, perhaps two-person spin the bottle proves the safer option. 

Dan reasons quite well, halfway through a second bottle of Malibu. Look for flaws in his logic, and you will find none.

Dan finds himself holding one finger aloft as if making a very astute point — in an over-exaggerated pantomime kind of way. This does not excuse the extent to which Phil's eyebrow is arched, aiming its hairy judgment right at Dan.

"Should I be waiting for something?" Phil asks.

Dan lowers his finger, squints his eyes in thought. That feels nice, shutting out some of the twinkling light from the tree. He can see the after-image of their jittery glow through his lids. "S'pretty." He says. Slumping back against the sofa, the cushion pillowing his head as he closes his eyes completely.

"What?" Phil says, sort of muffled and farther away than Dan remembers him being.

"The—" He gestures toward the tree. "The blinky blinks." He nods firmly. Although closer to a repeated lolling, he reckons it's resolute enough.

"Yes. Lights. Pretty. Well done." 

Dan can hear the sideways smile in Phil's voice, but he opens his eyes just to be certain he heard correctly. There it is: that quirk at the corner of his lips. Dan stretches his leg out and nudges Phil with his toe. Phil's cheek twitches. Dan reaches up, rests his heel on Phil's leg and toes Phil's side. Phil's face breaks into a wide smile and he collapses over his folded legs, clutching his middle, intercepting Dan's foot. 

Through a sleek fall of hair, Phil looks up at Dan. Light catches him at so many points, Dan's head swims. More. Which, to be fair, was closer to a doggy paddle than a true, all-out swim. 

But those eyes.

Dan flails out and wraps his hand around the bottle. Never breaking eye contact with Phil, he spins it.

The open end wobbles to a halt. It points to the tree.

Phil doubles over laughing.

"I'm not kissing the tree!" Dan wags a finger at it. "I'll get a lip splinter."

"Or a tongue splinter."

"And a bauble in my eye."

Phil's now lying on his side on the floor, knees curled up, his belly still shaking a bit. His giggles have gone silent, but show no signs of subsiding. He rests his head in the crook of his arm, and says, "But, Dan, it's _pining_ for you."

Phil ducks just as the pillow skirts past his head. 

Clever dodging aside, Dan thinks he aimed that one rather well. Bonus points for actually grabbing hold of the pillow, what with it being all the way up on the sofa and him being all the way down on the floor — a near-insurmountable distance by most estimations.

Phil scoops up the pillow and scrunches it beneath his head, giving Dan a toothy grin. He turns and pats the floor near the bottle. "Come on, tree. Your turn." 

With relatively swift speed, Dan pokes the bottle so that it switches directions, neck facing Phil.

"Oh, look at that." Dan snaps his fingers. "Go on, Phil. Get yourself some wood."

Phil groans. Dan notes the hypocrisy of Phil's reaction to puns, but ignores it in favor of delighting in the result. Although muted by the pillow, Phil's groan comes out as a low rumble that resonates in Dan's stomach, mixing with the warm, fuzzy feeling the alcohol put there. Dan absently strokes the backs of his fingers over his belly. He hones in on the warmth spreading throughout his body, almost too hot. He can feel the heat prickling under his arms, at the small of his back, and between his legs. He can feel his cock press against the already tight fabric of his jeans. His fingers slip down to his crotch.

There's another low sound, clearer, from Phil's direction. For a second there, Dan forgot about Phil. No, not forgot, just. Distracted. Dan's brain cells weren't keeping up at their usual pace, got distracted by warmth and other things. And, okay, he's never been the best multitasker.

Dan curls his fingers, raising them above his zipper, as if that's less conspicuous. He risks a look at Phil, but Phil's looking at Dan's hand. Slowly, Phil's gaze reaches Dan's eyes. At the same time, he wraps his hand around the bottle and twists it until it points toward Dan. 

Phil raises himself on his hands and knees. 

Words make it past Dan's lips — stupid words, like, "Not after you've been with the tree." Mentally, he slaps a hand over his mouth, but in reality he keeps going. "You've probably got the Christmas herpes. I'll wake up with a cold sore oozing tinsel and glitter and—"

Phil's crawling toward him.

"Shut up, Dan."

Dan bites his lip, nods.

"Tell me no if you really mean it, but—"

"No," Dan says. "I mean. Not _no_. Jesus fuck." Dan covers his face with his hands. His body slumps sideways, fully on the floor.

He feels a weight settle into the floor parallel to him. 

"Dan."

Phil traces the edges of Dan's fingers. Then he gently pries at one. Dan lets him lift it. Then another. And the rest.

Phil's face is so close to his. Breath so hot on his skin, lips so wet as if they've been licked. 

Dan's hands slide past Phil's and grab onto the collar of Phil's t-shirt. Phil's fingers circle Dan's wrist. His mouth opens, pink tongue tip poking at the corner. Before Phil can wet his lips again, Dan yanks him down. 

There's a wheezed sound that resembles an _ack_. 

Dan's lips curve against Phil's. He realizes his lips are moving the wrong way. _Kissing, not smiling, Howell_ , he thinks. Then he's opening his mouth wider, brushing against Phil's lips. He presses in more fully, letting their skin cling for a moment before withdrawing and, tilting his head, teases his tongue just inside Phil's mouth.

When Phil groans, the reverberations make Dan's mouth tingle. The vibrations stop at his throat, and he remembers the distance between them from the tangle of their hands. Without any resistance, Dan frees his hands from Phil's grip, flattens his palms against Phil's chest and rolls his hips until Phil's on the floor beneath him. Wide-eyed, Phil stares at Dan for a second before wrapping his arms around him and closing all remaining distance. His neck cranes up to continue their kiss, and Dan sinks into him. Dan sucks Phil's tongue into his mouth. The noises between them seem indistinguishable. They flow into each other between gasped breaths.

Phil's knees bend, tucking Dan's legs between them. The slight shift brings brief friction, and Dan seeks more, pushing up against Phil. Phil is hard too, and Dan rubs against him in slow thrusts.

Their kisses grow shallow. Phil draws Dan's bottom lip into his mouth, scraping with his teeth, before letting go. His head hits the floor. Eyes crinkled tight, he pants double time to the rhythm of Dan's hips.

Dan presses his hands into the floor and leans over Phil, brushing his lips along the shell of Phil's ear.

"Want to suck you off."

Phil jerks upward, turns his head to catch Dan's lips. When he opens his eyes, they're more black than blue. Dan allows himself to stare back, not wanting to blink. 

He lowers his head to fit his lips over Phil's Adam's apple, swiping his tongue over it. Phil shoves his hands up under Dan's shirt, clutching at Dan's back. He bucks against Dan. The feeling is glorious and maddening. It takes more ambition than Dan typically can muster to lift himself up and sit back on his knees and unbutton his shirt. One sleeve gets caught on his elbow, and Phil tugs it off. His hands go for Dan's belt. Dan just looks down, watches as Phil undoes it and hooks his fingers into the front of Dan's jeans. Phil thumbs at the buttonhole a few times before Dan shoos Phil away and unhooks the button, unzips himself. But Phil swats Dan's hands away and reaches into Dan's pants to pull him out. His fist fitting snugly over Dan's cock leaves Dan clutching the air at his sides, given over to the tight heat, the slow squeeze of Phil's sweaty palm. 

Suddenly he realizes how close he is. Too soon. He doesn't want it to end so quickly.

With a grunt, he shuffles back, out of reach. His cock bobs against the open flap of his jeans. The elastic of his pants snags on his balls. It's deliciously torturous. He thinks of Phil touching him there, letting a nail scratch a bit too hard, sneaking a fingertip behind them.

He shakes his head. 

He crawls down Phil's body. Hands on Phil's hips, he dips his head and takes Phil in right through his jeans. Phil's cock jumps, straining against the denim. Dan wants to mouth him until he's damp, drive him to the edge before they're even flesh to flesh. But patience is more theory than practice for Dan. His fingers are nimble and quick at Phil's flies. His thumb curls gently under the base of Phil's cock as he drags Phil's pants and jeans down with his other hand. 

It doesn't take much to ease the foreskin away from the head of Phil's cock. It's shiny and slick with precome. Dan swipes his tongue over the slit. Phil writhes, wanting and obviously checking himself enough to keep his hips on the floor. Dan's having none of it. He tilts his head and opens wide. Phil is thick and salty and silken and too much to take in, but Dan tries, wills himself to allow the head of Phil's cock to hit the back of his throat. He fights his gag reflex, fights back the sting of tears triggered by the exertion. But he's rewarded by Phil's fingers carding through his hair, cradling his skull then kneading. 

Dan tightens his lips around Phil and swirls his tongue as he sucks up the length of him. He wraps his fingers around the base of Phil's cock. The coarse hairs tickle Dan's knuckles. The musky scent is familiar but different from his own and overpowering. Phil's veins stand out more than Dan's do, and Dan tastes them, licking along their irregular routes, angling his head to get to each one. 

Phil's heels dig into the floor and his nails scrape at the back of Dan's neck.

Dan traces a finger down the seam of Phil's sac, rolls his balls against his palm, feeling how taut they are, how close Phil is. Taking a firm hold, Dan sucks his lips over his teeth and fills his mouth. He bobs his head faster and faster, taking in less and less of Phil until he's mostly just sliding the tight ring of his lips around the head of Phil's cock, rubbing over the ridge of the glans. 

It's enough; more than enough.

Curses and nonsense sputter out of Phil. 

Dan strains to look up at him. Phil's neck is crooked so he can see Dan. When their eyes meet, Phil chokes back a noise. Dan realizes it must have been a warning just as the jolt of come hits his palate. He pulls off, lips raw as wet heat splatters over them. Dan closes his eyes as some lands on his cheek. Even so, he jacks Phil through it, smearing the thick come over Phil's cock.

When he's finished, Phil's muscles twitch and jerk through the aftershocks. Dan smoothes a sticky hand over Phil's stomach until the spasms subside.

Phil reaches toward him. "You," he says, like a statement and question, both.

Dan raises himself on shaky arms until he's kneeling between Phil's legs. He sways, lightheaded. 

Phil holds onto his forearms, pulls. Dan follows, finds himself back on top of Phil, face to face, chest to chest. Phil's softening cock slides against Dan's hard-on. He's moving beneath Dan, and Dan catches on. He burrows into the space between Phil's neck and shoulder and thrusts against Phil.

It's not quite right, until he slips a little to the side, slots into the hollow of Phil's hip. He grinds fast, urgently chasing that edge that's coming on quick. 

He comes with clenched fists. His wrists dig into Phil's chest, but Phil keeps him close, arms wrapped around him. 

Afterward, he's shaky and sadder than he should be. Phil hasn't let go, hasn't pushed him away. Still, he turns his head, presses his cheek against Phil's shoulder. The first thing he sees is the empty bottle. It's pointing past Phil's head, in a straight line to the Christmas tree.

Dan's shaking with sudden laughter now.

"What?" Phil rustles Dan's hair as he speaks. It makes Dan shiver and smile.

He lifts himself enough to look at Phil, tips his head toward the bottle.

"It's the tree's turn again."

Phil cranes his neck back. He looks at the bottle, looks back at Dan. 

"No," he says, pulling Dan impossibly closer.

"Ménage a tree?" Dan grins into Phil's chest.

Phil laughs. Light, soft breath on Dan's temple counterbalances the deep rumble where their chests meet. "No," Phil says again. 

"What about the bottle? Bet we could put that to use."

"Dan." Phil bites his earlobe. 

Dan squirms, and somehow ends up on his back, Phil hovering over him with his bright eyes and hair in his face. Phil swats at the bottle and it rolls off, out of sight, clanking against a table leg or wall or who knows. All Dan knows is that Phil is kissing him, taking his turn. 

It's an abuse of the rules, is what it is. But there's something about those things being broken, and they've always been so good at breaking things.

**Author's Note:**

> • It's all made up.
> 
> • Beta by raynemaiden. <3


End file.
